


The Booth

by feelsnotfeelings



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Diners, M/M, Mechanic Dean, Nurse Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-13
Updated: 2015-07-13
Packaged: 2018-04-09 04:02:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4333125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feelsnotfeelings/pseuds/feelsnotfeelings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes eating a stranger's food can turn out to be a very good thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Booth

Dean sighed, pushing away the eggless bacon cheeseburger. He motioned to the waitress (new, he thought) and took a sip of his Coke to wash the taste of  _wrong_ out of his mouth. He almost spit. It was Dr. fucking Pepper.   
  
“Excuse me, miss, my order is wrong. I asked for a fried egg on this and Coke, not Dr. Pepper,” he said, swirling the liquid around in the cup, ice rattling. She bit her lip and looked to the side, like she was trying to decide how to respond.

“That’s because it’s  _my_ order,” said a man wearing bruise-colored scrubs standing a few feet behind the waitress.  
  
The poor girl looked relieved at the clipped explanation, and then Dean remembered the twinge of irritation he’d felt upon discovering that his regular booth was taken. He must’ve come back to it out of habit after talking to Ash.

The man continued, slipping his phone into the pocket of his top. “That’s  _my_ coat on the chair next to you, and  _my_ seat you’re sitting in.”  
  
Dean's ears burned at the man’s sharp tone and the scowl that seemed to travel the length of his face.

“I— sorry, man. It's my regular spot. Force of habit.” Dean had the urge to hold his hands up in surrender. “Put his meal on my bill ok?” he said to the waitress standing awkwardly between them.

He slipped out of his seat, flashing an apologetic smile to the dark-haired man, whose glare softened just enough that slivers of blue were visible between rows of dark lashes.  
  
He could have sworn he felt a glare on his still-flushed neck as he bit into his own burger, now cold.

Then a sigh came from behind him.  
  
“Would you like to share the booth?” It sounded like someone was forcibly dragging the words from his mouth.

Dean turned to look at the man, who gestured to the empty bench across from him.  
  
“Consider it a peace offering for being so short with you. I’m not a morning person.”  
  
Dean made a few mental calculations. “So your idea to make up for it is to spend more time together?” He didn’t even want to touch on the reason the guy thought 5pm was morning.

He shrugged.  
  
_What the hell_ , Dean thought. The guy was cute, and over there at least he could sit on the right side of the table. He felt all out of whack over here.

“You’re still a dick,” he said, scooting across the seat.   
  
“And I apologized for it. I’m not handling the change to night shift very well. I’m Castiel.” He held out a hand to shake, but Dean’s were currently dripping egg yolk and he only managed a half wave in return.  
  
“Dean,” he said around a mouthful of burger. “So am I gonna have to fight you for this spot? I’m pretty attached to it.”

Castiel raised an eyebrow. “That won’t be necessary. Just don’t try to eat my food again.”  
  
***

“It’s  _breakfast_. I just don’t see why you won’t try it.”  
  
Cas frowned at the pool of yolk congealing on Dean’s plate and grumbled, “Fried eggs are unappetizing, and I’m sure adding just bacon to a cheeseburger already raises its cholesterol to a dangerous level.”

Dean couldn’t help feeling personally offended that Cas insisted on eating burgers at what was his breakfast time. And not even leftover, I-am-so-tired-and-hungry-I-just-need-to-eat- _now_  burgers, but fresh made ones. He thought with a shudder that he was glad he’d never seen Cas after his shift at the hospital. What would he eat then? French toast and sausage?

“Would it kill you to at least eat a waffle?” Dean asked, not bothering to swallow first.  
  
Cas blinked away an eye roll. “I  _like_ cheeseburgers. Besides, there's more to breakfast than variations on egg and flour.”

Guess that ruled out the french toast.

Cas’s tone rang with finality, drawing a sigh from the man across from him. It was the farthest they’d ever gotten in that conversation.  
  
Dean’s and Castiel’s spot had quickly become Dean-and-Cas’s booth, more by accident than design. Dean ate at Harvelle’s almost every night and if Cas happened to show up too, well that was just fine by him.

He’d surprised himself by actually enjoying the man’s company. If he were more honest with himself he’d admit he looked forward to it. Cas had grown less surly as he adjusted to his new shift, though the bags under his eyes hadn't receded any, and he could still jump from zero to exasperated in the span of a sentence, a limit that Dean found he loved to test.

He’d learned to read the subtle signs of humor on Cas's face and in his voice— the creases bracketing his eyes, the way his words seemed to snap like he was delivering a punchline in black and white.

Dean had also learned when to change the subject.

"So how's The Terror this week?"

"I think you'd be better off considering the moral implications of calling an ill child a terror," Cas snapped.

Dean was big enough to acknowledge that just because he knew when to change the subject, it didn't mean he knew what to change it to.

“Ok fine, dick move," he conceded, "but in all fairness you did nothing but bitch about her last time I saw you."

"Expressing concern and bitching are not the same."

"You sound like Sam."

Cas sent him a sharp look but otherwise ignored the comment.

"It was the middle of the night. She should've been asleep."

Cas had a habit of giving him lectures that were meant for other people. It was actually kind of endearing, once Dean had stopped trying to dissuade him and instead opted to let him talk himself out. He figured it was better to send him to work without the pent-up self-righteousness.

Cas kicked him under the table. “I don’t know why I sit with you when you just ignore me.”

“It’s the table.”

***

Dean hadn't yet resorted to checking his watch, though he had to admit he was disappointed. It wasn't like they had an appointment or anything. Except that Cas was usually there on Fridays. Almost always, in fact.

He'd just resigned himself to some unexpected alone time when Jo hollered from the register that he had a phone call.

"And keep it quick, we only have two lines."

Cas didn't bother to return his hello. "I’m not going to make it tonight... I came in early to keep Claire company, her mom couldn’t visit until later. I wanted to let you know. It’s probably stupid, just assuming you'd be waiting— "

“It’s not stupid at all. I was just about to order, but… is she up for another visitor? And maybe a little non-hospital food?"

Scuffling and muffled voices on the line, then, "Yes to both. And make hers a Winchester Special."

Huh. Sounded like someone had been talking about him.

He knew from Cas’s stories that he worked on the pediatric floor and figured he’d just ask for directions to Claire’s room when he got there. No need. Cas was waiting for him at the elevators and led him down the hall.

Looks might be deceiving, he thought. Because surely this innocent face turned up toward the SpongeBob rerun playing on tv couldn't be the same that Cas bemoaned for its eye rolling and snarky comments.

Cas introduced them and she waved shyly, barely unlooping an arm from around her fleece-covered knees.

"No roommate, sweet deal," Dean said by way of greeting and set down the Styrofoam containers on her tray, falling into the chair next to the bed.

Claire shrugged. "She went home earlier. Lucky bitch only had knee surgery."

Cas grabbed his food, shaking his head as he plopped down on the remaining visitor chair.

She noticed his reaction and scrunched her nose at him.

"Nice to see you two are getting along." Dean's tone was light, smile teasing, but he meant it. He was really tired of being scolded for her attitude.

“Eh, he’s alright,” she said in that teenage way of showing zero enthusiasm for anything.

After that they ate in a near silence, broken by guffaws from Dean and snorts from the other two, who were more alike than either would care to know.

Soon it was nearing seven and almost time for Cas’s shift to start. He walked Dean out to the elevator bay but hesitated, leaning against the wall opposite.  
  
“I have some time,” he explained as their shoulders came to rest a hand’s breadth away from each other.

“That kid lucked out, having a nurse like you to... ” The softness in Dean’s voice surprised him.

“Dean, I’d like to exchange numbers,” Cas said in a rush to his crossed arms. “So maybe I could call you instead of Harvelle’s if something else happens. If you want to?”

His eyes flicked to Dean’s.

They looked at each other for a long moment.

“Yeah, ok.”

***  
_Cas: How bad is it that I actually look forward to finals so I can escape this infernal class?_

Dean read the text and set his phone back on the counter without responding. It buzzed again not two minutes later.

_Cas: Dean. I learned this in undergrad._

They’d been here before. He knew if he responded it would just encourage him, so he set his watch alarm for 4:00, fifteen minutes after Cas’s last class ended.

When he’d first told him about his acceptance into a master's program, Dean thought it meant they would have less contact, not more. He hadn't anticipated his friend being addicted to texting. It seemed like every stray thought he had found its way to Dean's inbox, even when Cas was in the middle of a class.

The phone buzzed again and he found himself smiling fondly. Just then Meg strode up with a stack of parts orders, taking in the phone and Dean's expression with a cocked eyebrow.

"That your special friend?" she drawled, eyes predatory.

“ _Best_ friend, Meg,” he said with a fuck-you smile.

"Right. I just can't wait for the day I walk in on you begging your  _best friend_  to fuck your exhaust pipe or something. Remember kids, lube."

Dean ignored her, silencing the ringer before heading back into the shop. She and the other mechanics had gotten a rise out of him with their teasing when he'd first taped the printed class schedule to the wall, but it didn't bother him anymore.

He was proud of Cas, and why shouldn't he be? He just wanted to help people. Why else would he sacrifice his day off to sit up with a patient? Hell, the only reason he  _had_ that schedule was so that someday he could do even more for his patients.

But there was so much more to Cas— his sly sense of humor, the way he always expected a serious answer no matter how bizarre the question, his expressive features that spoke for him when his mouth was busy chewing. He was Dean's best friend in the world save his right hand, and even that was up for negotiation.

He lost himself under the hood of an elderly Ford until his watch chirped 4:00.

3 new messages. 2 complaints, which he ignored, and 1 question.

_Cas: Graduation is may 2 at 2pm. Coming?_

Like he even needed to ask.

_Got a hot date_ , he typed back.

_Cas: Cancel it. They’re not invited._

He wasn’t sure if he was serious or not. Texts were a rough translation of Cas’s personality, and with no help from his face or voice Dean felt like he was attempting to parse an unfamiliar idiom word for word.

He stared at the message some more, perhaps hoping the letters would rearrange themselves into a straight answer. When they didn’t, he ignored it and typed out  _Dinner?_

Cas’s response came less than a minute later.  _Got a hot date._

Dean snorted. Joking, then.

***

Dean didn’t want to stop touching Cas, instead pulling him into his own side of the booth. He stumbled a little and Dean winced as the already rumpled flowers landed on the table with a  _thwack_.

“The usual?” Ash had started to say before taking notice of the change in wardrobe and seating arrangement. It knocked him silent for a second before he recovered enough to say, “Almost didn’t recognize you, Cas. Congratulations.”

Cas gave a sideways nod while Dean wrapped an arm around his shoulders and launched into a hunger-fueled monologue.

“We’re celebrating, so I’m thinking burgers as usual, like a quadruple order of onion rings— don’t give me that look, Cas, fries are just as bad— rootbeer floats— “

“Cheesecake,” Cas said to Dean’s shoulder, and he had to stop himself from immediately protesting that cheesecake was an insult to cheese and cake and anyone who enjoyed either. It was Cas’s day, and Dean was so fucking proud of him. He figured he could suffer some goddamn cheesecake.

They settled into each other to wait, trading anecdotes from earlier in the day.

The new graduate had left his spray of carnations and baby’s breath at the edge of the table, directly in the way of Ash delivering the spread Dean had ordered. There was an awkward shuffle and crinkling of paper when he reached across Cas to retrieve it, chuckling as he snatched it back possessively and laid it across his lap.

He’d been embarrassed at first, holding the flowers during the whole two hours of commencements, but they were on sale near the entrance and it wasn’t like he could show up at a graduation with a six pack of Thighslapper. He’d forgotten all about his sweaty palms and spotlit feeling when Cas nearly bowled him over, cap knocked askew by that first enthusiastic kiss, tassel brushing their cheeks, the flowers pinned between them. The pleased set of Cas’s lips even now made it worthwhile.

Dean untangled his elbow from the hood trailing down Cas’s back so he could eat, regretting the loss of contact until a foot hooked around his calf and stayed there.

The cheesecake arrived when they were only halfway through the onion rings, taking turns dunking them in spicy mustard, but they abandoned them in favor of dessert. Dean took one torturous bite before setting his fork down to just watch Cas.

He couldn’t stop looking at him, still in his regalia, gown unzipped over a dress shirt and tie, cap long-abandoned on Baby’s dash. Dean had never seen him in anything other than scrubs, he realized, and his current attire was so out of place in the diner it was like seeing him for the first time again. Except now he was smiling, and there was a softness in his face that seemed like it had always been there, though Dean knew it hadn’t. It had settled into his features the way Cas had put down roots in his life, gradually but completely. 


End file.
